


You're the One That I Want At the End of the Day

by crimsonwinter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Sherlock, Dom!John, Fingering, Frotting, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Smut, commission, sub!Sherlock, this is really porny okay, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5211761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They made quite a sight, rutting and groaning against each other, undressing atop a conference table in a clinic that, no doubt, contained many people in varied stages of life and death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the One That I Want At the End of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> This smutty abomination is a commission for my friend Mima! She wanted Sherlock showing up at John's work and getting utterly wrecked by a dominant John in a clinic conference room.
> 
> She was so, so, _so_ generous in her patronage, that I couldn't help but go above and beyond - make it longer and hotter than she could even imagine!
> 
> Thanks for the commission, lovely!
> 
> Also, to everyone else, please check out my [other works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/works), as well as my [tumblr](http://crimson-winter.tumblr.com) for all things johnlock!
> 
> P.S. this is my 50th work, can you believe that!?

John tugged at the thick charcoal material of Sherlock’s coat, crunching the buttonholes into his palms and pulling Sherlock against him roughly. Sherlock, responding to John’s desperation, ran his hands down John’s back and pressed closer into the spot between his legs, nudging him against the edge of the conference room table. John ground his clothed, hard cock into Sherlock’s, inexpertly rubbing against his groin and upper thigh. Sherlock’s plump lips were swollen and damp from John’s tongue, his jaw marked red from John’s teeth. John breathed hot against the spot below his ear before he moved to take his mouth again, kissing him fiercely, the sounds of their snog echoing in the dark, empty room. 

Moving his hands from Sherlock’s lapels to his arse, John thought back to how they ended up snogging and frotting helplessly against each other in an empty room at his clinic.

He’d been just finishing up a particularly demanding surgery involving metal plates and little old ladies when Sherlock appeared in the doorway of his office, spouting off at a mile a minute about how he needed his opinion on some details of a case.

John, exasperated from playing doctor all day, nodded along to Sherlock’s hypotheses and predictions as he filed the last of his patient’s paperwork. He disregarded Sherlock’s indignant huff as he slipped Mrs Bennet’s folder into the cabinet drawer.

Sherlock, apparently, would not be ignored. So, needy for attention, he strode across John’s office and crowded John in against the file cabinet, asking him his input on the case.

“I really can’t think about this right now, Sherlock,” John had said, prying his eyes from his boyfriend’s plump, pouting mouth, just half a foot away from his forehead. He flicked his eyes over to his framed doctorate certificate and fought the urge to lean up and suck on Sherlock’s irresistible lower lip. “It’s been a long day.” He let out an exasperated sigh, chest heaving. “Just let me breathe, will you?”

Sherlock, like he often had, had made a little whine and dropped his head onto John’s shoulder. _“John.”_

John had smirked, carding his fingers up into the curls at the back of Sherlock’s neck. “Look at me.”

Sherlock did. 

“I know I get busy here. It doesn’t mean I won’t help you on cases, I just get caught up. Patients, paperwork, surgeries… Sometimes, at the end of the day, I’m just worked up, even though I’m bloody _exhausted._ ”

Tilting his chin up while he cast his eyes down, Sherlock twitched his lips. “Worked up?”

“Yeah.” John twirled and tugged dark curls between his fingers. “Tense. Restless.”

Sherlock glanced at John’s other hand, which had found its way to his chest, fingertips pressing into the straining holes of his buttons, barely brushing his exposed skin. Sherlock breathed hard out his prominent nose and pursed his lips. John met his eyes and quirked a brow.

And then, somehow, John was guiding Sherlock by his nape into an empty conference room just down the hall, pulling him inside, pressing him up against the door, and snogging him senseless.

That brought them to this moment, in which Sherlock and John had fumbled towards the long, elegant table at the center of the room. Sherlock made needy little noises into John’s mouth, struggling to suck on his neck and his lips at the same time. John groped him mercilessly, squeezing the round, supple shape of his bum through his trousers, spreading his thighs and rutting against him. Sherlock, reacting to John’s confident touches, tried to lean him back onto the table. 

John, still buzzing from the adrenaline of the successful operation, would not stand for Sherlock taking the lead. He was a doctor, dammit, and a good one. He was going to have Sherlock, here, on his table. He was going to take control.

He pushed back against Sherlock, and, using his incredibly strong, thick arms, John gripped Sherlock by his slim waist and spun them ‘round, lifting Sherlock up and onto the table, pushing between his spread thighs in one smooth movement. Sherlock gasped and gripped John’s shoulders as he swept his hands up Sherlock’s thighs, pressing his face up for another kiss. Sherlock complied eagerly, tilting his face down and letting John suck on his bottom lip, something John had wanted to try for years, and now, finally could. 

They licked into each other’s mouths with fervor until Sherlock pulled back, John’s lips immediately going to his jaw. Releasing Sherlock’s left hip, John reached for his scarf and yanked at it roughly. It came loose, and John tossed it into the void around them as he captured the newly exposed skin under his tongue.

“John!” Sherlock moaned, throwing his head back to reveal a long, pale stretch of skin.

John was always ruthless on Sherlock’s neck, as he could never get enough of it. Not when he knew how smooth and tight it lay under that blasted scarf, warm and pulsing with Sherlock’s heartbeat. Now, he licked a long stripe up the taut column of it to Sherlock’s ear, tugging on his earlobe with his teeth as he growled, “I want you.”

Sherlock could only whine in response. John took it as a sign of consent and went back to pulling at Sherlock’s hips, scooting him forward on the table and settling himself between his thighs. He ground into him again, cocks hot, solid, and straining against the confines of their trousers.

Spurred on by the hardness between Sherlock’s legs, John took no time in releasing Sherlock of his large, elegant coat. Needy and impatient, John cast it aside and ran his hands down Sherlock’s sides as Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders.

Sherlock, now free of his heavy coat, seemed to find his voice. He pulled at the short strands of John’s silver-blond hair as he gasped, “You want me.”

It wasn’t a question, but John answered all the same. “Yes, God, _yes._ ”

“Then…” Sherlock rolled his hips into John’s shallow thrusts, groaning at the contact. “You can have me.”

John absolutely adored it when Sherlock gave such direct verbal permission, especially when John had intent to completely ravage him…. which he had, here and now, at his workplace.

Groaning out a sound that sounded nearly inhuman, John pushed Sherlock back on the table ’til he was flat on his back. Then he crawled up and onto the table, thankful for its sturdy structure. 

Looming over Sherlock now, knee pressed up into his groan, he began unbuttoning Sherlock’s posh navy dress shirt, fumbling with the buttons as Sherlock scrambled to shed John’s jacket, vest, and shirt.

They made quite a sight, rutting and groaning against each other, undressing atop a conference table in a clinic that, no doubt, contained many people in varied stages of life and death. All the same, here they were, little shadowy figures, squirming in the darkness, breathing hard and desperately aroused.

After a few minutes of rustling, Sherlock and John were both shirtless, clothes lying haphazardly around the room. Now, pressed flush together, skin to skin, John could cover every inch of Sherlock’s chest with his tongue and lips.

Holding Sherlock’s hands together by the wrists, pinning them to one side of his head, John kissed lines and patterns over his skin. Sherlock squirmed and bucked beneath him, but John’s hold was steady, and, as Sherlock had given him permission to, he took what he wanted. He grazed the tip of his nose over Sherlock’s pink nipple before latching his mouth onto it, rolling the flat, wet heat of his tongue over the peak. Sherlock groaned beneath him, thrusting his hips up against John, eager for friction. 

John ignored his request and continued to work on his chest, scraping his teeth along his pectoral, moving to the other nipple to give it the same treatment, never relinquishing his dominant hold of Sherlock’s wrists. Sherlock continued to buck against him, blush creeping from his chest, up his neck and into his cheeks. 

“John, please,” he husked.

John pressed his cheek to the warm, solid expanse of Sherlock’s chest and flicked his blue eyes up. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Please. Please, _please_.”

John chuckled into Sherlock’s skin and scraped his nails down Sherlock’s arms, releasing him as red lines raised against his pale skin. Sherlock took the freedom of his hands to pull John up and against him, kissing his mouth as John fit himself into his groin once more. “I need it,” Sherlock groaned.

Cocks rubbing together, John tugged Sherlock’s top lip through his teeth and pulled off with a gasp. “Yeah, yes.”

Obeying Sherlock’s command, as well as the demand of his own desire, John wormed a hand between their bodies and unbuckled Sherlock’s trousers. He unzipped him and slipped his hand down to cover Sherlock’s thick erection. Sherlock responded beautifully, hissing through his teeth and arching his back, tipping up into John’s hand. John sucked a deep purple mark into Sherlock’s neck as he wrapped his hand ‘round Sherlock’s cock, tugging the damp, warm, solid length. Grinding his own cock into Sherlock’s thigh, he pushed up on Sherlock’s body to reach deeper, pulling Sherlock out of his trousers and into the steamy air between their bare stomachs. 

He rolled his fist down and up Sherlock’s cock, feeling a little drip of precome wet the spot between his thumb and index finger. Sherlock, at this point, was muttering and whining and moaning incoherent praise and compliments at John, wrapping his legs around John’s hips and groping his arse to pull him in. 

John, while loving to take Sherlock apart with his hands, was drowning in red-hot arousal himself, and at every little huff of breath or needy moan, John found it harder to ignore his needs. So he kissed Sherlock’s mouth as he released him for a moment, quieting his disappointed noise with his tongue. Then, with shaking fingers, he unclasped his own belt and trousers and shoved them down over the swell of his bum, uncaring if a coworker passed by the conference room only to see it, round and bare, through the window. 

He pulled himself out from between his legs, gritting his teeth at the solid, heavy weight of his own cock, and immediately pressed it against Sherlock’s. With one hand, he held them together and squeezed, rolling into his fist. He and Sherlock gasped at the same time as they pressed together, even as they’d felt this particular form of sex dozens of times. Still, every time, it was mind-blowing. Every time, it was another form of torturous foreplay.

And, truth be told, frotting on top of the clinic’s conference room table had their public sex kink sparking, knowing their breathy grunts and moans were nearly audible to the doctors and nurses on the night shift.

They ground together, John holding their cocks in one hand, bracing himself on the table with the other, for as long as they could hold out. The pleasure flared up in their lower bellies, wetting their cocks with precome and making them needier than ever.

Sherlock was shuddering on the cusp of an orgasm by the time John finally pulled away, climbed down from the table, and stripped Sherlock fully of his trousers and pants. He cast the remaining clothes away, watching as the rush of air seemed to cool Sherlock’s sizzling skin. Sherlock hummed in satisfaction before he sat up and looked at John with heavy, sultry eyes.

John looked back.

The room was dark and smelled of sex and sweat. John stood before Sherlock, trousers shoved low, torso and bum bare. It was incredibly intimate, to be here with Sherlock, and John felt lucky to have access to the conference room. His boss had given keys to all head doctors, and John was grateful for it, since the large, empty room and long table provided an excellent background for the brilliant, important, and, quite naked, detective who sat before him.

Sherlock had let his legs fall open, hard cock flushed and wet against his thigh, hands gripping the edge of the table. He tilted his head at John, loose curls mussed from snogging. His eyes were dark with arousal and vulnerable excitement, not the sharp, piercing daggers they cast when Sherlock was out on a case. Here, was so soft and small and eager, so open and needy. John was overwhelmed in knowing that he was the only one who’d ever seen Sherlock like this, who’d ever made Sherlock like this. He thought he might burst with affection.

Instead, he opted for fucking him senseless, so he drew close and kissed Sherlock deeply.

“Is this all right?” John whispered, hands smoothing up Sherlock’s naked thighs towards his cock, trailing his fingertip over the ridge of the head.

Sherlock grumbled a small, complacent yes in the back of his throat, and John smiled at him filthily. He mouthed down the tendons in his neck and over his collarbone, guiding Sherlock to lie back down with confident hands.

Sherlock complied wordlessly, laying back against the glossy surface of the conference table. John looked at him once more, at the sharp angles of his hips, the shadows playing in the muscles of his abdomen, and the dark hair at his groin. He swept his hands down Sherlock’s sides, over his hipbones, and then, roughly, pushed his thighs up so they went taut and exposed his arse beautifully.

With a little whimper of John’s name, Sherlock shifted in anticipation as John stared on. He loved the look of it, the clean, shaven hole beneath heavy bollocks. He licked his lips and wasted no more time, immediately leaning over and husking a warm breath over Sherlock’s exposed perineum. Then, spurred on by the musky smell and heat of him, John lolled his tongue out and swiped the wet surface over Sherlock’s rim.

The sound it then elicited from Sherlock - John would never forget.

He continued in earnest, licking and sucking at Sherlock’s hole with all the intensity he used when kissing him. He moved his jaw in similar ways, lapping at his rim and rolling his tongue inside when Sherlock twitched open wider in arousal.

John found himself grunting to Sherlock’s arse, mouth shiny with saliva, hands pinning Sherlock’s lean thighs up by the backs of his knees. Sherlock wriggled and moaned and shivered beneath him, and with every twitch and whimper, John’s arousal spiked. His cock lay untouched between his legs, his trousers still bunched under the crease of his bum. 

Should a nurse or doctor or janitor have walked by and spared a glance inside conference room C, they’d have seen honorable Dr Watson eating the arse of his famous detective boyfriend, pinning his thighs at his chest with two strong hands.

Inside, John gave no thought to this risk. He only continued on, making Sherlock squirm with his expert tongue. 

His jaw did begin to ache as he continued, but he wouldn’t give up the taste and feeling of rimming Sherlock for discomfort alone. He did, however, crave to suck on that beautiful cock, so he pulled back and moved to swallow the ruddy, wet head. The change surprised Sherlock, and he craned his neck to see, letting out the smallest gasp as John sucked him down, cheeks hollowing. 

He bobbed his head as he went, sucking and pulling and pushing and lapping. He loved sucking Sherlock’s cock, and Sherlock loved being lavished. This was clear in the little huffs of breath and the desperation in which he canted his hips up into John’s mouth.

John sucked him only for a moment, then pulled off, a string of saliva clinging from his bottom lip to the head of Sherlock’s cock. Then, eager to get on with it, he released one of Sherlock’s thighs and brought his fingers to his lips, sucking on them and wetting them with slick slabs of saliva. He brought them to Sherlock’s opening and, after rubbing the widened rim, slipped his middle finger inside.

The noise Sherlock made when he did _that_ was better than any of his brilliant deductions, John decided.

Groaning his approval, John leaned down again, moving his fingers out of Sherlock and bringing them back to his lips to wet them again. He went about pushing two in, and Sherlock whined at the stretch.

John’s lips were slack and puffy from kissing, and his tongue was heavy and slick in arousal, so when he asked Sherlock, “S’all right?” it came out in a rough, slurred growl.

Sherlock understood all the same, as he pulled on his thighs and rocked into John’s touch with a needy, “Yes!”

John checked Sherlock’s facial expression to ensure he was all right, and what he found had his stomach dropping. Sherlock was flushed and deep in ecstasy, his dark brows furrowed, his mouth agape in pleasure. What was worse, even, was the trickle of drool at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth from his loss of control. John smirked at his own sexual prowess, and then went back to the task at hand, sucking Sherlock’s cock between his reddened lips and curling and twisting his fingers inside him at the same time. 

He gauged how forceful or quick he worked his fingers and tongue by Sherlock’s sounds and twitches, careful to bring him just to the edge, sucking him deep into his throat and fucking him hard with his fingers, but pulling off just as Sherlock began to tremble and spasm.

John pulled his mouth off with a lewd pop and retracted his fingers, looking up at Sherlock once more. He’d thrown one arm over his face, the other gripping the pale flesh of his thigh so hard that little red half-moon rivets appeared under his nails. His chest, neck, and face were all a deep crimson, and the tendons at his inner thighs flexed uncontrollably. Sherlock also, understandably, mumbled incoherently.

John crawled back up onto the table, incredibly aware of his own rock-hard erection brushing over Sherlock’s abdomen. “What’s that, love?”

“You…” His chest rose in admiration and fell with a breathy sigh. “The best.”

Unable to resist a genuine smile, John pulled Sherlock’s arm from his face. Sherlock’s eyes were closed, lips parted in amazement. John kissed them softly. “Well, thank you, but that’s not even the best part. I think you know that.”

Sherlock managed something akin to a laugh, but it came out as a breathy huff. “Yes,” he managed.

“Sherlock.” John could feel the rise and fall of Sherlock’s tight stomach under his cock.

“John?”

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

Sherlock whined, a high moan trapped in the beautiful expanse of his neck.

John mouthed the shell of his ear, nose in his curls. Sherlock’s hair smelled like sweat and shampoo and that beautiful, fresh, somewhat musky Sherlock scent. Helplessly in love and in even worse in arousal, John couldn’t help but say again, “I’m going to fuck you so good.”

Sherlock didn’t seem to mind the redundancy all, actually.

John then moved their bodies together, and pulling Sherlock’s thighs up around his hips, he angled his cock between Sherlock’s cheeks. With one hand at his cock, the other on Sherlock’s hip, he added another dab of saliva to the head, right where it pressed against his rim, and pushed in. 

Breaching Sherlock’s entrance was a sin John would never tire of, truth be told.

The width of his cock slipped in easily, as Sherlock had taken him inside many times and now knew to remain comfortable and open when John positioned himself. And, as he was needy and slick and wet from John’s mouth, John’s thick, lengthy cock sheathed fully inside him in an effortless glide.

John and Sherlock waited, just for a moment, ’til the entirety of John had fit. 

Sherlock took a breath, and John watched him, steady in his control. Then, knowing they’d been waiting far too long, he moved his hips. It was just a slow gyration at first, a pull and a push and another pull, John’s hips rotating between Sherlock’s thighs. 

John went a bit harder. The slickness had caught up with him as he thrusted easily, in and out. He could feel Sherlock twitch around him, swallowing him as he pushed deeper. Sherlock began breathing in double time as John went even harder, and then, sure Sherlock wouldn’t mind a bit, John fucked him into the stars.

Both of them knew that it was the nature of it to let John release his tension in a good shag, but the intensity in which it escalated had them both gasping. John had shifted them so he was gripping Sherlock’s thighs, Sherlock’s hands on his forearms. He fucked him powerfully, thrusting and rolling and pounding, Sherlock moaning _uh, uh, uh,_ as all the stress of the day racked through his hips.

Then, just as a sheen of sweat had formed on John’s brow, he pulled out of Sherlock and moved down the table, away from the edge. He lay on his back, propped on his elbows, trousers now pushed low on his thighs. He pressed his sticky lips together and looked at Sherlock with the smuggest face he could manage.

Sherlock, completely blissed out, was stupid in arousal and crawled over to John without question. He stroked a hand down John’s torso, and while the touch was intimate and loving, John needed something more carnal.

“Sit on me, Sherlock,” he commanded.

Sherlock complied, moving his lanky legs to straddle John. He lifted one of his thighs, when John put a hand on his knee and stopped him. “No,” he said. “The other way.”

Sherlock looked down at him, brows furrowed.

“So I can see your back.”

Cocking his head to the side, Sherlock observed the expanse of John’s body. Then swiveled his body around, moving his other leg to climb over John with his back to him. 

Sherlock’s back was so beautiful, pale and strong as it blended into the cinch of his trim waist. It contrasted the mess of inky curls at the top of his neck, which fluffed against his nape as he rolled his head and raised himself up on his thighs. His arse, round and taut and lovely, stuck out a bit as Sherlock waited for treatment.

John almost laughed at his complacent impatience, but all that came out was a bit of husky groan. John licked the taste of Sherlock off his lips as he used his hands, the hands that patched up little old ladies and mended kid’s broken legs, to grab the fat on Sherlock’s bum and spread his cheeks.

Sherlock’s opening was red and wide from the round before, still glistening with John’s spit. John’s stomach coiled with the erotic lewdness of it, of knowing that he’d stretched him open and filled him up. 

He smacked one of Sherlock’s cheeks then, just a little slap, just because he could. Sherlock squeaked, then wriggled his bum impatiently. John then took his cock in hand and propped it up, guiding Sherlock’s by the bum down onto it.

He watched as it disappeared inside him, Sherlock sinking all the way down the the thatch of dark blond hair at his pelvis. Sherlock arched his back as soon as he was seated, and John stared on as his spine rolled up, the dimples just at the base of it flexing prominently. 

Even in the darkness of the room, Sherlock glowed, every valley and muscle and shadow casting him as a chiseled beauty, like a marble statue with the ability to swivel and grind lithely. He did so now, rocking himself on John’s cock, pulling himself off and pushing himself down, John’s hands guiding him by the hips.

Watching Sherlock ride him was always incredible, always, but he’d never had him like this. He’d never watched the muscles in Sherlock’s back as he tensed his shoulder blades and raised his arms above his head, tugging at his own curls. He’d never seen the point of hair at his nape from his spot below. Sure, he’d fucked Sherlock ten way from Sunday, from behind, from the top, standing up - but this, God, they’d never done _this._

And who was to blame? Only John’s lustful imagination. His sparking arousal often created endless situations and positions in which he could fuck the living daylights out of Sherlock.

Although, now, in this moment, Sherlock was fucking himself on John’s cock.

This was unacceptable - they needed to go harder. John needed to go harder.

So, with a grunt, he dug his fingers into Sherlock’s hips and held him in place as planted his feet on the table. He thrust up into him, fucking him from underneath.

Sherlock fell forward from the movement and steadied himself on John’s knees, his long fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers, which, in all the fuss, he hadn’t removed entirely.

John watched as he fucked into Sherlock, hard, the fat in his arse bunching up under his hands, his spine concaving as he raised himself back up and arched his back.

The long conference table began to click into the floorboards with the movement, but John didn’t care. He was lost inside Sherlock, to the feeling him of him swallowing him and accepting his powerful thrusts.

It went on for a bit longer, John fucking Sherlock confidently, angling it just so he hit that sweet, devilish spot inside him. Sherlock shivered around him, throwing his head back in a gasp, all the while moaning helplessly. John, overcome with arousal and hunger, snaked a hand into Sherlock’s curls, pulling himself up with it. Sat behind him now, he mouthed at Sherlock’s neck, rocking back and forth with Sherlock in his lap, who pushed and pulled and bounced along with him. 

John reached one hand around and tugged at Sherlock’s cock, which was damp and sticky and painfully hard. Sherlock rolled back against John and groaned, stuttering out John’s name. 

“You like that?” John heard himself say under the noise of the creaking table, breathless moans, and slaps of skin on skin.

Sherlock moaned, quite hungrily, “God, yes.”

John was never one for too much talk during sex, as he sort of focusing more on _doing,_ but with Sherlock, he couldn’t help it. Sherlock babbled all through being fucked, his voice going hoarse by the end of it. It was only fair to talk back. And, whenever he did, it was always so needy, so horny. John loved to hear himself so wrecked in arousal. He spoke right into Sherlock’s ear, breath hot and damp. “God, you feel amazing.”

“John!”

“You like to ride me?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“I like to have you like this. So I can see your pretty little arse.”

“God, John!”

“Are you going to come?”

“Yes, please, please let me come!”

Then, with Sherlock rocking and bouncing into his lap, with his needy little moans echoing into the conference room, John tugged him once more, hard, but - to Sherlock’s surprise - suddenly released him. Sherlock barely had time to whine before John, feeling adventurous and powerful, sharply bit into his neck, right above his shoulder. 

Sherlock spasmed in John’s lap at the bite, rolling back and onto John’s cock as he came in hot, wet spurts. Flecks landed on his stomach and the conference room table as John fucked him through it, coming deep inside him not two moments later. 

They continued rocking together, an offset of peach and alabaster skin, as exhaustion and satisfaction settled into their weary limbs. John’s mouth was still latched to Sherlock’s neck, teeth pressing hard into his skin, by the time they stopped moving completely. He pulled off, leaving red and white indents in Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock went rigid from the last spark of pleasure, then slumped forward. John followed.

They lay together, in the center of the table, John still inside Sherlock, curled around him, head resting on his shoulder blade. 

“Jesus,” John breathed. “That was amazing. Just what I needed.”

Sherlock shifted against him, John’s soft cock twitching, oversensitive. “John…”

“See, Sherlock, this is what happens when you show up at my work uninvited at the end of a long day. I just _have_ to have you.”

John didn’t know how he was even capable of speaking, as his tongue was heavy and his lips were slack with satisfaction. His voice was hoarse and low, nearly a whisper against Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Then maybe…” Sherlock panted, finding John’s hands and entwining their fingers. “I should come more often.”

Smiling into his skin, John tucked himself up around Sherlock, the smooth wood cool against his damp, hot skin. “Yeah,” he said. “I think you should.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly haven't written such lengthy smut in a long time - I hope it met and succeeded Mima's expectations! *filthy chuckle*


End file.
